True Rock
by John Faina
Summary: The idea might not be the best, but what else was House to do when he spent all of his time with his emotional paragon, his rock, after suffering such a devastating breakup?
1. Chapter 1

**Note: In this story, the whole thing with Dominica never happened. Thank me with reviews!**

**Disclaimer: Do I own House M.D.? I highly doubt it.**

House had thought about this. And thought about this. Until what he considered to be his abnormally large brain seemed full to bursting with all the thinking. Granted, that is what he usually did in his spare time, and even in the spare time between having spare time, but never quite like this. It wasn't heavy, _how-will-this-mystery-be-solved?_ thinking; it wasn't _gee, wonder what's for lunch today? _thinking; it wasn't even one of those rare thoughts that popped into his head because he actually allowed it to do so, such as _Wilson looks nice today - Wonder if it's appropriate to make an inappropriate comment? _thinking.

No. This was more along the lines of _Should I tell my _best friend_ what I've been thinking?_ Because he was done with the truly difficult part - now the thinking was coming from having a decision to make about what he'd been thinking, and it was no easy task.

Sadly, but really not so sadly, Cuddy was finished with him. Oh, he had loved her - he still did love her - but they were never meant for all that baggage that automatically comes with a relationship. She was a friend that he hoped he would always have, despite her telling Wilson that they couldn't go _back_ward. As he ought to know, words don't have to mean anything; it was actions, and lately, Cuddy had been behaving perfectly usual around him, giving him extra Clinic duty, telling him he couldn't carry out some of his more insane medical procedures, ecetera...and he was fine with that. He was _comfortable_ with it - it felt like old times, which he hadn't realize he had sorely missed.

Wilson had asked House to move back in to the loft that dreadful weekend of the break-up. He'd refused, partly due to cold indifference to his friend's concern, and partly due to extreme annoyance at his pity. How he could be both indifferent and annoyed simultaneously was beyond him, but there was no satisfactory way to explain away human emotions. The day after the incident with the pool and the college kids, House had finally left the hotel and gone back to his apartment. Wilson still came by every single day, undeterred by the seemingly suicidal act. In fact, he acted as if it had never occured. Perhaps his over-worked up brain had subconciously blocked out the event - just another thing that they would never talk about because, honestly, just being around each other told them all they needed to know. It was all in their eye contact, their body language, their...harmless touches. And it was all so familiar...House really appreciated the wonderful, warm, comforting feeling of familiarity now. Like he was in his own little world with his best friend and his team (he had been feeling great affection for Foreman, Chase, and even Taub these past couple of weeks), and his boss with whom he argued over simple matters...it was nice. And the Vicodin was a special comfort as well.

The nicest part was that Wilson had asked him _again_ to move back into the loft, and he had accepted. It _was_ lonely in his apartment, now that he had known and been reaquainted with the knowledge of what it was like to share living space with another person - for nearly three years. House didn't _like_ being alone. So, yes, he had accepted, and he had been living with Wilson for two weeks. He'd been thinking for two weeks. Maybe longer.

His best friend was...very helpful in his situation. Most of the time they spent together was enough to distract House from his pain, and, if he wasn't mistaken, it distracted Wilson from his own. He frequently dwelled on the fact that the both of them were, once again, bachelors...and the fact that they were getting on in years and he could see no hope for either of them. Well, there was probably hope for Wilson, as all he had to do was give a woman that puppy-dog simper, and she was his, but House had no special technique unless there was a particular woman who swooned over sarcasm and scruffy features. At the moment, however, they were both single. And while House was perfectly content with having the old duo back together, he couldn't help but wonder if...maybe...they could try a little something different. It was this he had thought about, long and hard, and now, he debated over whether or not he should bring up the subject with the one person he trusted, the most important person in his life - in his entire life. On one hand, he was terrified that Wilson would abandon him just as Cuddy had done. On the other hand, he held a firm belief that the worst Wilson could do would be to simply reject him. Their friendship was so set-in-stone that there was really nothing that had the ability to break it except death. Wilson would probably even let him down gently, his brown eyes apologetic for not being able to give House the kind of happiness and companionship he desired. This image caused a small, affectionate smile to cross House's face, and he decided that he would do it. It would be okay. It had to be okay. He couldn't live the remainder of his life, not knowing. He always had to _know_.

It wasn't that he had been harboring repressed romantic feelings for his best friend ever since they first met or even a couple of years after. In fact, House _didn't_ harbor repressed, or any other types of romantic feelings for him...it was just that the feelings he _did_ harbor, such as particularly strong platonic love, were intensifying day by day. He found himself almost clinging to Wilson as if he were the very last person on earth, and to House - he might as well have been. The idea of beginning a romantic relationship with someone he loved very much, even if it wasn't in that way, didn't seem too bad. The thought of kissing him, among other things, was a little odd, but not unpleasant. He figured it would simply take some getting used to, and he was totally willing to try if Wilson agreed. Many of the staff around the hospital already thought that they secretly wanted to be with each other - it wasn't like it would be a big scandal that Cuddy would be forced to cover up, and it wouldn't completely shock _any_one. Everyone knew how close they were. The more he gave the matter plenty of thought, the more he became drawn to the idea. He only hoped that Wilson saw it the way he did...

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As he slowly pushed his way through the wooden front doors of his condo, Wilson noticed, because of his exhaustion no doubt, that the place was utterly silent. No blaring television, no grating notes from House's organ, and no sizzling sounds from the stove top. All of this indicated that his friend was not home yet; they had driven in seperately that morning due to this. In all of the chaos of the work day, Wilson had forgotten that House had been planning a visit with Doctor Nolan late that afternoon. He sighed, shrugging out of his overcoat, and hung it on the coat rack that Sam had insisted he buy, along with his keys, and made a beeline for the couch. It was time for some peace and quiet.

He didn't bother with the TV; he grabbed a magazine that was laying on the coffee table, sat down, and began mindlessly flipping through it, hoping to rest a bit before House got back so that he had enough brains and energy to interrogate him about his session...and beg him to get dinner. As he flipped, a small smile appeared on his face and slowly grew until he had stilled over some page or other, feeling proud that House was making the right decision on his own just as he had nearly three years ago. It proved that the older man was mentally healthy enough to realize that he needed the help of another human being to get him through his depression so that he didn't do something destructive like overdose on the Vicodin. It troubled him, the amount of time House seemed to spend just sitting there with deeply contemplative expressions on his face these days. He knew what House was thinking about and it was going to get him nowhere; from the few conversations he'd had with Cuddy about the situation, it did not appear as though she planned to change her mind anytime soon. On the brightside, House seemed genuinely grateful and relieved that Wilson had asked him to move back in again. Hopefully, they would continue to grow closer until they had achieved that level of a couple of years back - at the rate they were going, it was bound to happen any day now. Then maybe he would be able to get a good, meaningful conversation out of him...help ease his pain a little...

Shaking his head, Wilson returned to flipping through the magazine that lay across his lap, but merely four minutes passed, and his eyes began to droop. Another five, and he was out like a candle that had been burned down to its holder.

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Something hard banged into his shoulder, jerking him awake. He shot forward, eyes wide, and saw nothing there. He looked up at the ceiling, briefly wondering if the roof had fallen in - perhaps there was some lasting damage from when those fire sprinklers went off - but nothing was there either. He felt hugely disoriented...until he heard a chuckle behind him. He whirled around. House was standing there with his cane raised as if to strike once more, but lowered it as soon as Wilson turned.

"Idiot," he muttered, his blue eyes shining.

Wilson turned back around, rubbing a hand over his face, and stifling a yawn. "Nice...to see you too. Oh - hey - " he whirled around again to watch House limp around the couch to have a seat next to him, dropping a plastic bag into his lap. Judging by the delicious smell that was coming from it, Wilson supposed it was a Chinese dinner. His stomach growled loudly in response as he, in turn, set it in front of them on the table. "How were things with Nolan?"

House shrugged, leaning forward to dig into the bag. "He's still fat, I'm still an ass...the only difference is I'm back on the pills. He wasn't, you know, very _excited_ when I told him, which was a huge disappointment. I was so sure he would be proud."

Wilson leaned back into the imprint he'd made against the couch, rubbing his face now as if he were trying to put feeling into it. His eyes were still so heavy...he stifled another yawn. "Good," he said.

House glanced at him while twirling a few noodles around a plastic fork. "Good?" he asked with a note of amusement, and...if Wilson wasn't mistaken, a concealed note of disappointment? Maybe House actually _wanted_ to talk about it. Wilson yawned again, shaking his head, and sat up.

"No, uh, I mean - do you think you'll start going to regular sessions again?" He grabbed a container of food.

House appeared to think about this for a moment, sucking on his fork with a curiously blank expression, before speaking. "I...don't think so."

"What? Why not?"

"Because I didn't go. Never scheduled an appointment in the first place."

Wilson froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, and stared at his friend. "Why...not?" he asked again, slowly. He was going to refrain from being disappointed until House explained. He'd been trying this new thing lately where he didn't lecture, and he didn't let loose exasperated sighs or shake his head; instead, he gave House his full support because that's what friends were for. As long as the older man had someone to back him up, he would be fine. It was then that he realized House hadn't turned the television on - something he usually did as soon as he walked through the door. That meant that he really did want to talk. And with this confession, it was sure to be about something serious...Maybe he wanted to talk about Cuddy. Or maybe, instead of going to see Nolan, he had done something else that he had initially wanted to hide. What could that be? He watched House carefully as the older man remained silent, avoiding his gaze. They had both ceased eating, but Wilson noticed the odd tension in the air from this, and so picked up his fork again.

A few more tense moments passed. Wilson finished off his container of food and set it back on the table. Eventually, House cleared his throat gruffly.

"I've been avoiding you."

Wilson blinked, not at all certain that he had heard correctly. So he repeated his words back to him in question form, raising his eyebrows to convey his increduality. House nodded curtly in response.

"Uh, okay. _Why_ have you been avoiding me?"

House refused to look at him; he looked in the general direction of the flatscreen instead, falling silent once more. Wilson didn't want him to close up like this. He wanted him to talk. Did House feel that he couldn't trust him? Tentatively, he asked, "Did you...do something?"

"No."

Wilson frowned. "House...what did you do? It's okay, you know, you can tell me."

"_Nothing_."

Wilson put up his hands in surrender at House's sharp tone. "Alright. So...did _I_ do something?"

Inhaling deeply, House turned his head to look at him properly. His blue eyes scanned his face quickly, but Wilson caught the anxiety in them. Worry seized him around the middle and held on tightly. "House," he said firmly. "You're making me nervous."

That appeared to do the trick for whatever reason. House probably thought that if they were both nervous, it wouldn't be so bad...or something. Who knew what went on in that rat-maze of a brain?

"I've been thinking about...a few things."

Wilson nodded.

"I haven't been thinking about the things you _think_ I've been thinking about."

Wilson nodded again, more slowly this time. "So what...?"

House, who had been clutching his container, seemed to realize this and set it on the table next to Wilson's. "Well, yes, Cuddy and - that whole thing. But I've been thinking about you too."

"Sure," Wilson said, surprised that House was volunteering that information when he was usually so reserved when it came to things like problems and emotions.

House squinted at him as if trying to figure out his features, then continued, "You're gonna take this the wrong way."

"Why would you assume that?" Wilson asked with a stab of annoyance. House needed to _trust_ him.

"Because I know you," House shot back. "You're prone to overreactions."

"I won't _overreact_," Wilson promised soothingly; he didn't want an argument right then. "I won't get upset over whatever lunatic thing that's happened now."

"I think we should try something," House blurted after a pause, as if he wouldn't have the courage if he waited any longer.

"Try _what_?" Wilson asked curiously, if not a bit impatiently, though he tried to keep it in check.

"A relationship."

Letting out a chuckle of disbelief, Wilson settled back into the couch. "Right. Let's get right on that."

House stared at him for a moment, scrutinizing. Wilson stared back, almost glaring but not quite, willing him to come out and say what was really on his mind. He couldn't help House if he didn't know what was going on. And then, to his utter shock and amazement, House's jaw clenched, and he stood, snatching up his cane, and limped out of the living room.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Wilson called out, getting up to follow him. "House - " He caught up to his best friend easily before he had the chance to baricade himself in his bedroom. House turned to face him, his cheeks tinged with a shade of red that could possibly indicate anger or humiliation, but with an otherwise blank expression. Wilson locked eyes with him. "Just tell me what's really bothering you."

"I did," House told him in a low, flat voice.

"You don't really expect me to believe that you want us to _try_ having a relationship," Wilson scoffed. "First of all, you just got out of a bad one with Cuddy. You're on the rebound. And while that is normally my thing, according to you..." he trailed off jokingly.

A corner of House's mouth twitched, then his face was blank once more. "Wilson..." he said, seeming hesitant. Wilson waited, but House just shook his head as if deciding that whatever it was wasn't worth it, and started to turn toward his room.

"No," Wilson said firmly, grabbing the crook of his elbow. "I am your best friend. You can tell me anything, do you hear me? _Any_thing. You ought to know that at this point."

Closing his blue eyes, House faced him again. "Why do you care about this?"

"Because it's obviously affecting you, and I want to be there for you in case you decide to start firing shots from the clock tower."

"This isn't - that's not what - " House cleared his throat. "It isn't that sort of thing."

"Then what is it?"

"Wilson," House said, stunning him momentarily with the intensity in his voice. "I don't know how else you expect me to phrase the words 'I already told you.' You, apparently, do not agree with the idea, so it would be great if you would let me go cry myself to sleep."

Placing his hands on his hips, Wilson tilted his chin forward as him challenging him to take back that statement within the next three seconds before some sort of explosion took place. When he didn't...well...nothing happened. Literally nothing. The two of them stood there, staring at each other so silently that all that could be heard was the sound of one lone drop of water escaping from the faucet in the kitchen next to them. It was surprising that House didn't attempt to run away or, at least, break eye contact - and it convinced Wilson more than words ever could that his friend wasn't joking around. He felt a crushing guilt when he realized that House had probably been planning this moment for a while...this is what he'd been thinking about underneath those contemplative expressions...and his reaction was most likely the very one House had been anticipating. Dreading.

"Oh," he said softly, somehow not breaking the thick silence.

All at once, House's blue eyes filled with anxiety as they had earlier. Such horrible anxiety that Wilson was going to speak again, but the older man interrupted him.

"You don't understand," he said harshly. Wilson winced. "You think that I'm suggesting this because I'm in love with you. You're wrong."

"Actually..." Wilson started, unsure of what to say. For a reason he hadn't yet discovered, the thought that House was in love with him hadn't crossed his mind. He shook his head. "I'm kicking myself for turning this into exactly what you hoped it wouldn't turn into. A big deal."

House looked genuinely stunned. "You - you don't think this is a big deal?"

"Not from this moment on. Once you elaborate - then we'll see."

House tilted his head, squinting at him, then glanced down at the floor between them and swallowed. "While we're not in love with each other _now_...I think that we could be."

Wilson watched him carefully, feeling as if he'd just swallowed a large ice cube. He waited for House to look up and meet his gaze so that he could nod his encouragement. Even if nothing came of this idea, he would still be there for House. Nothing was enough to make him want to leave. If anything, this would make their friendship even stronger.

"There's - there are no other relationships we could get into that would mean anything to us," House continued, now staring at Wilson's left shoulder. "And while I'm not suggesting that I want to kiss you all the time, or sleep in your bed - I don't _want_ any other relationships. I would rather live here and argue with you over nothing, than start something new with some woman that would end up in disaster anyway. Because with you...disaster is impossible."

Blinking back the slight dampness behind his eyes, Wilson breathed in deeply. This was House bearing his soul to him; this was a side he had very rarely been able to witness, and it had never been directed at him. Not in this way. House _was..._trusting him. He couldn't screw it up. He was quiet for a moment, processing and deciding on the right thing to say, while House continued to look at his shoulder, his eyes practically burning a hole into it.

"I never knew that you felt safe here," Wilson eventually said, gently. "That makes me feel like that much more of an ass for kicking you out before."

"No, it's not _here_, here. It's...you," House explained. "I'm safe with _you_. Because you'll never leave, no matter what I do."

Wilson nodded, licking his bottom lip. "Just keep reminding yourself of that fact."

House met his gaze briefly before returning it to Wilson's shoulder. He now wore the ghost of a smile on his gruff, anxious features. "We don't have to jump right into anything big - we don't have to change anything - I just wanna _know_ that we're together. And...maybe...one day we'll feel comfortable enough to, you know, have a hot and heavy makeout session because we've fallen in love. Who knows?"

"And what if we just can't?" Wilson asked curiously. "What if we really are just friends who happen to love each other in a particularly strong, platonic way?"

"If we're brave enough to open up our other option, then it's there. And it will always be in the back of our minds. And we'll always wonder...what would it be like? Could it work? And...we'll have to eventually try it out. And _I_ think that if we're brave enough...we could make each other happier than we've ever been. But if those types of feelings just aren't there - then we'll simply remain friends who are closer than any two people on earth, because we'll know, and there will be no more questions or wondering, but that affection will still linger because...we cared about each other enough to try and make it work."

Wilson didn't bother to pause and think about these words. They instilled emotions in him so deeply that his brain automatically knew what the answer was, and he blurted it out as soon as House stopped speaking.

"Okay," he said, blinking furiously. "Okay. It makes sense - I'm willing if you - I - I do care that much - just promise me that we - "

"We won't," House said firmly, blinking as well. "We can't. We've been through too much."

"Mm," Wilson said thickly, attempting to control himself. There was a lump the size of two tennis balls in his throat. "So if we _are_ just friends - what will you do?"

"We'll cross that bridge if we see one," House told him, looking at him with more intensity than he had ever noticed before. Wilson found himself unable to look away, caught up in the moment, feeling as though nothing else in the world mattered but those blue eyes that he saw much more clearly than ever. How many times had he looked at those eyes, vaguely noting that they were a pretty shade of blue, but never really putting any thought to it? Why were they now the most beautiful things he had ever seen?

House slowly took a step toward him, putting a hand lightly on the side of his face, and pressed a very gentle kiss to his forehead. Wilson closed his eyes, his breathing shaky, every muscle tense as if he were ready to spring. When House began to speak against him, he noticed that his friend was breathing in much the same fashion.

"We'll take it day by day," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over Wilson's temple. "Minute by minute. If we're going to do this, don't be afraid of it...go with your insticts. If it doesn't feel right, we won't push it."

"Does _this_ feel right?" Wilson whispered, voicing what he knew they were both wondering. House pressed another kiss to his forehead as though he were taking another taste of apple pie that had potential to win first place in the state fair. Wilson tried to force his muscles to relax, but was unsuccessful, though...there was something thrilling about House's closeness. It felt forbidden. House pulled away from him, seemingly reluctant, and Wilson was surprised to find a frown on his face.

"You're uncomfortable. You're supposed to _tell_ me that, not suffer through it."

"No," Wilson assured him quickly. "I mean - a little - but that's normal, I'm sure. It's not _you_."

"How can you be sure?" House asked with a small grin. "This whole _situation_ is not normal."

Wilson grinned back, somewhat shyly. "Well, can we just - watch TV?"

House nodded, his expression relaxing into what seemed to be relief, and the two of them genuinely smiled at each other for the first time that evening.

In light of what was happening, it was then that Wilson allowed himself to find House's real smile rather attractive.


	2. Chapter 2

House spent most of the remainder of that week sort of...existing. He couldn't quite come to terms with the fact that his best friend, James Wilson, had agreed to gradually ease into a relationship with him, and it was as if his body wasn't quite sure how to process the information, so it numbed itself as protection. Well, House didn't want protection. He actually wanted to _feel_ this. It was not likely that he would ever have the opportunity to feel something like this ever again, if only he _could_. Sometimes, late at night when he was lying alone in his bed, he would be overcome with a peculiar tingling sensation - deep in his bones - that had him trembling ever-so-slightly underneath his sheets; those were the only moments when he knew that something dreadfully important was happening in his life, and he acknowledged, whatever he might have told Wilson, that he was terrified of screwing it up. But not as terrified as he had been with Cuddy. Doctor Nolan had been right all those months ago - Wilson was the closest thing he had to a safe relationship, and he had no reason to expect that that would change just because they were trying to take it a step further. What was the worst that could happen?

They hadn't done anything...romanticky yet. Not even something as innocent as holding hands or a repeat of the kiss on the forehead. He sensed that they were both a little hesitant on that point, but he wasn't worried; they would get to it when they got to it. The only indicators that they had made progression - if only half an inch - were the special, little smiles Wilson shot his way at moments he felt were appropriate, such as when he thought no one else was looking, or when they had lunch at their somewhat secluded table in the cafeteria. If it was the latter, House took great pleasure in kicking his shin under the table. Wilson got back at him by failing to conceal a knowing smirk.

No one suspected that anything was different in House's life. The strange numbness that just wouldn't back off enabled him to continue to act in his normal, sarcastic manner, whereas when he'd begun a relationship with Cuddy, everyone (namely his team) commented on how happy he seemed. He cracked more jokes, smiled a little more...it was what his body had _thought_ should happen. Maybe the fact that his body wasn't really reacting to this whole thing with Wilson was because...it thought it _shouldn't_ happen. But he couldn't - no, he _refused_ - to simply believe that. They were going to try this out no matter what the signs indicated.

There was a familiar _ping!_ as the elevator doors opened. Staring in the general direction of the tiled ground, House walked out, heading for the nearest exam room, where he could think in private. As he passed the receptionist counter, he grabbed a cherry red lollypop from a glass bowl that rested there, and stuck it in his pocket; his thoughts usually flowed better when he had something to occupy his mouth. Thankfully, he made it to Exam Room Three without being intercepted by anyone he knew. He peered around to make sure no one was watching, then closed the door and locked it. He then sighed, hopped up onto the examination table, and began to sort through the puzzle that was his actual patient.

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It was nearing five o'clock that day, and another person had been snatched back from the brink of death. It had been nothing special, really. He'd had cases in the past far more interesting, and certainly more challenging, but that was okay; he'd chosen the woman with the very purpose of not having to think too much about her symptoms before coming up with the correct diagnosis. He'd argued lightly with Cuddy over a dangerous procedure, she'd eventually caved, and a brain biopsy had been performed, which told them the reason behind the woman's mysterious head aches. Tumors. Simple as that. So, he'd hauled her off to the oncology department, where she was told they were benign, and would most likely live a long, healthy, productive life as the owner of a chain of fast food restaurants. House had not even visited her once - forgotten her name by this point, though he would be prepared to bet it started with a "I." Or something.

He looked up as the door to the differential room opened into his own office, admitting both Foreman and Masters, the latter being the newbie who had grown on House a bit, despite himself; it was a rare occurance when he simply did not like a person. Sure, she was young and naive and socially awkward, and had an _extremely_ stubborn set of morals that she followed to a "T", but she was an excellent doctor. House gritted his teeth as he thought this, staring up at them.

Foreman cleared his throat pompously. "We're going out for a drink." Masters blinked rapidly, while shoving her hands into her coat pockets, as if she thought this was inappropriate, which, for her, it might have been.

"You mean, you have an I.D. and everything?" House asked, gaping at her puppy-like face. "Oh, wait, that's right," he said, feigning remembrance. "It was your birthday last month, wasn't it?"

She scowled at him good-naturedly, but didn't respond as Foreman rolled his eyes. House's gaze switched to him. "Trying to replace Thirteen already? Good call. I was worried we were going to run out of the white girls."

"We were wondering if you'd like to come," the oldest member of his team explained in his perpetually smug tone of voice. House's small grin faltered for a moment.

"Wilson didn't put you up to it this time, did he?" he asked, worried, but feigning indifference easily.

"No."

House nodded. "Well then, thanks, but no thanks. Got better things to do."

Foreman smirked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Okay." He turned and began making his way out of the office. Masters smiled at House before following him. "See you tomorrow," she said, and they were gone.

House sat back in his desk chair, contemplating. He amused himself for a moment with wondering whether Miss Goody-Two-Shoes had ever been drunk a minute of her life. Foreman was probably just offering to be friendly; he tended to carry out random nice deeds whenever he feared he was in danger of becoming too much like House. And he also probably wanted her to feel more comfortable in her place on the team. Or maybe he just wanted into her pants. If so, there might be an issue...

Suddenly, his other office door opened from the hallway, and in walked Wilson, interrupting his unimportant thoughts. The younger man's face visually relaxed as their eyes locked, and House couldn't resist giving him one of those smiles he reserved for those few who were close to him. Or - for the _only_ person close to him. Wilson smiled back, having a seat in the chair directly in front of his desk.

"Hey," he greeted, throwing an ankle carelessly over his knee in a way that was no longer as simple as it looked in House's case. His brown eyes narrowed and seemed to rove down House's face and chest - they gave the impression of trying to go lower, but they were thwarted by the evil desk between them. "You coming over tonight?" he asked in a sultry voice.

House rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, I saved another life, thanks for asking."

Wilson chuckled. "Sorry. Oh, hey - don't forget our anniversary. Two hours from now, it'll have been..." He checked his watch while House scowled good-naturedly. "A week."

"Shut up."

"Alright, sorry. Again," Wilson said, still smiling. "On a more serious note - Are you ready to go? It's just that I have rose petals, champaigne, and candles lit in the bedroom, so - "

"Wilson, for God's sake," House snapped, more angry at himself for being hurt than at his friend, who was obviously trying to diffuse the tension that had lightly surrounded them all week. The younger man's smile slowly faded until he was looking at House with a concerned, apologetic expression. House immediately felt guilty, but refused to recognize this, and hid it very well. At least he knew that Wilson wasn't going to joke about it anymore. He bit his tongue, avoiding Wilson's gaze. Eventually, Wilson nodded, seemingly to himself.

"Let's go," he said softly. House glanced up in time to see Wilson stand up. He waited a total of five seconds before doing the same, grabbing up his jacket from the back of his chair. Already, all was forgiven, because Wilson knew - even before he, himself, did - that joking about it made him feel nervous. As if none of it were really happening, or...as if Wilson thought that he wasn't completely serious about it. He had _never_ been more serious about something. He pulled on the jacket, turned off the small lamp on his desk, and limped toward the glass door, where his friend was waiting. After locking up, they began walking down the hall toward the elevator, their arms brushing with a bit more force than usual. That was all the apology House cared to receive.

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The next evening, Wilson plopped down beside House on the couch, shoving a beer bottle into his hands. House clutched it without a word, and stared without seeing at the floor in front of him. Wilson sighed, watching him, wishing that there was some sort of pill that eliminated pain completely. It had always hurt him when House appeared to be in agony over his leg...every wince pierced his stomach and every labored breath threatened to compromise his own breathing. He would never tell House this, of course; he wouldn't even let his concern show in his face, because he understood House's loathing of intense emotions when he wasn't in the mood to deal with them. His loathing of pity, even though what Wilson felt was far from pity; House wouldn't recognize that. He bit his lip when the leg next to his own jerked as what was left of the muscle spasmed uncontrollably. Reflexively, he placed his hand on House's knee for a split second, squeezing, and then quickly retreated, thinking that the contact would only agitate him, but, without warning, House's own hand shot out and grabbed onto his before he had time to place it back in his lap. He gripped his fingers painfully, closing his eyes as another spasm overtook him, and then lay his hand over the ruined thigh muscle. Wilson immediately drew away, not wishing to cause him any more discomfort, but House firmly put it back.

"No - " he breathed laboriously. "This is what you can do."

"I - I don't - " Wilson stammered nervously, but House interrupted him.

"You won't hurt me," he said, grunting as pain shot through him again. "Please..."

Wilson had never been strong enough to refuse House anything, and that certainly wasn't going to change now. He could feel the heat and small twitches underneath his palm, even through the material of House's jeans. His own nerves were on fire, both from not knowing exactly what to do, and from having to witness his best friend come undone like this...when was the last time he'd actually seen House in this much vulnerable pain? It had been years and years actually. He guessed that it had been Cuddy who had last seen him at his worst. And _now_, he had no one else to help him though it. That fact, of course, him being the type that fed on neediness, was half of what drove him to begin massaging House's leg very gently. The other half stemmed from the fact that their friendship was now something even more than it had been, and it was entirely acceptable. Wilson wasn't sure that he would have been able to refuse even before House had proposed his relationship plan. Would he have asked then? Probably not. But he might have gone ahead and done it anyway.

He cleared his throat. "Here - lie back. You need to get more comfortable."

Nodding, House moved his body so that his head rested against the armrest of the couch, and his bad leg lay across Wilson's lap, while his good leg wormed its way in between Wilson's feet on the floor. There was sweat dampening his forehead, and Wilson could see that his eyes were steadily becoming more red around the rims. He knew when the pain struck again because House inhaled and arched his back, nearly mangling his bottom lip in the effort to stifle a cry. Wilson used both thumbs to dig into the area around the healed wound, wincing at how tense and firm to the touch it was, and slowly worked his way inward.

After a few minutes, he began to feel a low, murmuring, vibrating frustration in the pit of his stomach. The massage didn't seem to be working. House continued to whimper every minute or so, and the muscle simply wasn't showing any sign of wanting to relax. Wilson wondered what the hell could have happened to make it act up like this all of a sudden, but he didn't ask House about it just yet. He planned to wait until morning at least. He continued to knead the area hopelessly.

"House...this isn't doing anything. Do you want me to - "

"No," he barked, tossing his head. "_Gah_...damn it, Wilson, it helps."

"Okay," Wilson said, surrendering. Relentlessly, he probed and pushed and glided his hand, sometimes both hands, and his fingertips past the stubborn piece of thigh muscle. He did whatever he could think of to relieve the unbearable pressure and throbbing, but it seemed to do no good.

Finally - _finally_ - after what felt like an hour, but was really only about thirty minutes, Wilson felt House's leg collapse under his palm. The twitching gradually ceased, and the area was no longer as hard, and House breathed a sigh of relief, sinking deep into the couch cushions. Wilson sighed right along with him, now just barely brushing his leg with his hand, sweeping over it as if he were tying up loose ends.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

House could hardly open his eyes to look at him. "Mm..." he breathed, mumbling something incoherent. Then, more clearly, he said, "Wilson...we gotta do that more often..."

Wilson smiled thinly. "Does it make it go by faster?"

"Like you'll never know," House replied, gratitiude dripping off of every word. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wilson watched him, unconciously rubbing his knee.

"What brought it on?" he asked.

"Just one of my bad days..." House said, clearly exhausted. "The weather - whatever."

Wilson nodded. "You should get some sleep."

"If you feel like hauling me to my room."

"I do. Come on - " Wilson gently removed House's leg from his lap, untangled himself from the other leg, and sat up. House did the same, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Together they stood, House leaning heavily on his left side, but Wilson held him up fine, and he began to lead them toward the middle bedroom.

Once there, House had a seat on the edge of his bed, wincing again. The pain soon passed, however, and his expression was clear, if not gray with exhaustion. Wilson clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder before turning around to leave. In the doorway, he turned back.

"You gonna be okay in here?"

House stared at him, his eyes gleaming with something unidentifiable.

"Yeah."

Wilson became aware that they eyes had locked. At that moment, he felt nothing but affection coursing through them, charging the room, making him smile. He remembered what House had told him - _If we're going to do this, don't be afraid of it...go with your insticts. If it doesn't feel right, we won't push it_. This was really important to House. He knew it. He didn't want to screw anything up, and he knew that House worried about that as well. But the way they were looking at each other...it didn't feel _wrong_...it just felt natural.

He took a step into the room. House tilted his head, almost expectantly. Wilson, his heart thudding dully in his chest, walked over to him, leaned down, and kissed him gently on the mouth. When he stood again, he found that the eye contact had not been broken even though they'd closed them briefly. Neither said a word.

As House's eyelids began to flutter sleepily, Wilson ran a hand through his thin hair. House leaned into the touch, his eyes fully closing. Wilson smiled softly.

"I'll see you in the morning," he promised, before stepping back and exiting the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Wilson looked up when House poked his head into his office, his hand having just come from placing a pen into his mouth.

"Working hard?" his friend asked, banging his cane on the wood. "Good," he said without waiting for an answer. Not that Wilson had planned on giving him one. "I'm here to let you know that my whole team knows about us and we're in big trouble with Cuddy. Goodbye."

Blinking, Wilson removed the pen from his mouth just as his office door swung shut again.

His _whole_ team...that couldn't be good. He thought about running after House and inquiring after more detail than that, but he had quite a bit of work to do, and they would have a chance to talk when they got back to the loft.

But Cuddy...she was his friend too. He didn't want to upset her and he knew that House felt the same. He was sure that if it had been up to House, Cuddy might _never_ have found out about it. Or at least, it would have been sometime far in the future.

He caught himself smiling when he realized that he had just made the assumption that they would still be...whatever they were now in the future. He swiftly wiped it away when he realized that he had no idea what they were going to tell their boss.

::::::

At around five-fifteen that evening, Wilson wrapped up most of his paperwork. He stuffed the rest of it into his briefcase, along with a couple of patient files, and began to pack up. Poking a couple of pens back into their holder, his eyes swept the desktop, searching for any stray objects that may need to be taken home with him. He found none and stepped out from behind the desk for the first time in nearly an hour to hang up his worn white lab coat. He rubbed his eyes as went back over to retrieve his overcoat from the back of his chair, but didn't put it on just yet; it was a little warm. Instead, he slung it over his right arm, grabbed his briefcase, pressed a button on his lamp to turn it off, made sure he had his keys, and exited his office, locking up behind him.

His footsteps were heavy as he headed down the hall, shoving his keys into his pocket as he went. He had reached the elevator, and was in the process of pushing the down arrow, when the doors opened, revealing House to already be inside. His blue eyes lit up when they spotted him standing there. Wilson stepped forward to stand next to him.

"Were you coming up here to get me?" he asked, palming his face to stifle a yawn.

"I'm not about to face my _death_ sentence all by myself," House replied. "I go down, you go down."

Wilson sighed, shaking his head. "Very noble of you."

"Thank you. I thought so too." House's tone transitioned into a serious one. "What the hell do we tell her?"

"I have no idea," Wilson told him honestly. "We could always improvise. You know - it might be easiest if we just elope. Right now. I've got plenty of wedding rings - you could have one - "

"I could have sworn that was _my_ natural instinct," House growled, but he didn't sound too upset. "To make a joke about everything. When did we switch roles?"

"I told you we were improvising." He hadn't forgotten that House was uncomfortable with jokes of that nature - he just didn't particularly care at that moment. He was nervous. Then he noticed the small grin on House's face and felt a gentle touch at his elbow. He turned to him, his gaze just as gentle and direct.

"Are you really not worried about this?" House asked, scanning his face.

"Of course I'm worried about this," Wilson told him quietly; they were going to reach the lobby any second now. "Cuddy is a good friend of ours and we have no clue as to how she's going to react - "

And House was suddenly much closer, one hand on his cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Wilson lost the ability to speak. He closed his eyes instictively and, sure enough, felt pressure on his lips soon after. Stubble scratched the skin around his mouth; he could feel it more now than the first time they'd kissed...he wondered briefly why they were kissing. Right as the elevator let out its usual _ping!_, Wilson lightly pushed him away, and the doors slid open to a nearly empty lobby, where Cuddy was thankfully nowhere to be seen. He ran his tongue smoothly across his bottom lip, his stomach stuck somewhere in between his chest and his throat, while House gave a little, almost imperceptible, nod, standing back a couple of feet as though he'd overstepped sternly set boundaries.

Simultaneously, they hastened from the elevator, bumping shoulders with purpose. Wilson could certainly see that House had not planned on that particular moment to occur, and had therefore realized afterward that the particular moment was not the right one. Having had experience with situations such as this, Wilson hoped dearly that House would not lose the little confidence he had in what they were doing because of it. He had not pushed him away to be a jerk - simply to spare them humiliation had someone seen them. Namely Cuddy. House had to know this. Did he? It was essential that he know.

Before they reached the receptionist counter in the middle of the lobby, Wilson hurriedly whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Sorry."

House elbowed him, snatching up an orange lollypop from the glass bowl as they passed it. Wilson took that to be a good sign and relaxed immediately. But as soon as they came to approach the transparent door emblazoned with the title **Lisa Cuddy M.D. Dean of Medicine**, he tensed once more. Lisa did not appear to be sitting behind her desk - in fact, she did not appear to be inside the office at all. Nevertheless, House barged right in and he followed.

He closed the door quietly behind them, as if afraid that shutting it too loudly would alert the invisible people in the room to their presence and the most probable reason they were there. He drew the blinds on the door as well to keep out the wandering eyes of curious staff members and patients alike. Not that there were any at the moment, but...it was always better to be safe.

"James, honey," House said in a eerie, motherly tone, "this isn't a drug trade." His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and Wilson knew exactly what he was thinking. He held his hands up, showing that there was nothing to be suspicious of.

"No," he said firmly. "I don't care. There's a difference between caring what people think, and valuing your privacy."

House tore the wrapper from his sucker and plopped it into his mouth, nodding at something beyond him. "Ding dong, the witch _isn't_ dead."

Wilson whirled around as graciously as he could to greet the person he knew was about to enter. Cuddy opened the first door, staring dazedly at the ground in front of her, grabbed onto the handle of the second door, looked up, and spotted them standing there. She paused, but it was so brief that Wilson was sure he'd imagined it.

::::::

"Hi," Cuddy said breathlessly, as in popped her head and then the rest of her body. "I...didn't expect the both of you to _actually_...well. I'm glad you did." She hovered for a moment in front of them, her gaze flying to each of their faces, before she glanced away and headed for her desk.

House glanced everywhere and at everything in the room besides the two most important people in his life, but, peripherally, he saw Wilson turn to watch his ex as she bustled around, putting various papers in their rightful boxes or folders, before she finally stilled and walked around to have a seat on the edge of the front of her desk. He removed the candy from his mouth, lowering his arm down to his side, and leaned heavily on his cane.

"You wanted to interrogate us?" he asked in a polite manner that Cuddy would easily see through.

She sighed, standing. "I want to know what's going on," she said, sounding marginally less fierce than she had mere hours ago. House swallowed and Wilson came to stand next to him, though admittedly a couple of feet away. "It's one thing for - " she stopped, staring at what seemed to be Wilson's knees, but resumed rather quickly. "It's one thing for you to go on a hooker binge for God knows how many weeks, and it's another thing, even, for you two to start - seeing each other - but when I have to hear about it from - I mean, honestly." Cuddy suddenly glared up at him. "Masters hasn't been here a month, House. Not a _month_. So tell me. Tell me all about this." Her glare then flickered between both of them.

House's vocal cords were not cooperating properly with his brain. Wilson fidgeted next to him, obviously troubled, but he didn't say anything either. So Cuddy took up the silence again.

"Is this...a joke?" she asked, confirming House's earlier thoughts. "Is it some sort of plot to..." she trailed off, gesturing helplessly and looking slightly apologetic. "I don't know what. Get me back? In some twisted - "

"It's not a joke," Wilson interrupted quietly. Cuddy's eyes flew to him, sharp and calculating. House's breath caught. Wilson didn't say anything more, seemingly having lost his nerve.

"It's not," she stated carefully after a pause. She looked at House, who shook his head. She scrutinized them for a very long period of time during which House didn't dare look at Wilson and, likewise, he didn't feel Wilson's gaze. "And I'm supposed to believe that two of my department heads - both male, both having been good friends for years, both two of my _own_ good friends - are suddenly head over heels for each other."

"Sickening choice of phrasing, but - that's the general idea," House muttered. "I've heard that it's been a long time coming. My team for instance - "

"Yes, let's talk about your team," Cuddy broke in, her bottom lip trembling once. "_If_, say this were true, why does your team suddenly have an all-access pass to your inner thoughts?"

"Cuddy, he never - was going - he never planned to tell them," Wilson told her, still speaking quietly as though afraid that their boss wasn't strong enough to handle all this information, that it would just blow her straight over. "Foreman, it turns out, has been silently rooting for - us - for years - "

"_What_?" Cuddy asked, staring at him as if he had gone quite insane. "Foreman. Really. If there is anyone on this planet _less_ interested in the two of you - "

"Well, he hasn't been doodling our names inside a big heart in his notebook," House snapped without meaning to. "He's made _observations_ over the years. Ones that _I_ never made. _Wilson_ never made. And he - cracked and told Masters all about them, probably hoping that new meat would have the right combination of character traits to pester me about it. What you heard was - probably the idiots scheming out the best way to get Wilson and me locked up in a janitor's closet somewhere. So thanks to _them_ for shouting about it, and thanks to _you_ for barking up Wilson's tree this morning - _I_ was forced to confront my entire team to find out what happened. And you _all_ think that this is because Wilson and I have always loved each other deep down inside our pathetic little hearts - we were too stupid and too in denial to realize it - " he simpered sneeringly. "But that's not the case. I'm not gonna bother to tell any of you what the case actually _is_ because not one of you will understand. _I_. Don't. Understand. What I _do_ understand is - I don't want you to come crawling back to me," he said to Cuddy, whose blue eyes had been steadily widening and, at his words, filled with something unidentifiable, before emptying themselves of all emotion. "I'm not so pathetic that I'm going to con Wilson into going along with a prank as elaborate as this just to get you back."

He paused then, his mind whirling with things and ideas he was absolutely bursting to say now that it seemed that a dam had broken inside of him. Wilson looked at him with varying fascination, wonder, curiosity...among others. He didn't feel up to naming them. The things they felt for each other would fill books and books...

"I love you," he eventually continued, softly to Cuddy's shoe. "I always did; I always will." They both watched him intently, Cuddy folding her arms, and Wilson shoving his hands into his overcoat pockets. "But," he cleared his throat, "even though I don't recall ever feeling...romantic feelings..." he subtley glanced in Wilson's direction to let her know to whom he was referring, "There's no way I can deny that what I feel - what I've always felt - is - stronger than anything I've - felt for anyone. There's just - something there that can't be replaced or duplicated - and don't - don't do that - "

Tears had begun to slip slowly down Cuddy's cheeks. Apparently furious with herself, she reached up and brushed them impatiently away. But she didn't appear to have any words on her, so he continued in a slightly gentler tone.

"I can't deal with any more pain. That's what our relationship consisted of. I'm not saying that it was all bad, but, toward the end, yeah, it was. Wilson...helped me through it."

Cuddy dragged a finger across the skin underneath her left eye. "How?" she asked thickly.

House was determinedly not looking at Wilson now, who, he knew, was doing just the opposite. "By - acting normal. Being a good friend. Acting like nothing had changed. It's the way he's always helped me deal with...everything."

"And you're...falling in love with him for that," Cuddy hesitantly said.

House barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Sure. Let's say I am. And let's keep on pretending that Wilson's not really in the room."

At that, Cuddy turned toward the younger doctor, who raised his eyebrows. "This is real. You're really...dating."

Wilson took in a deep breath and let it out, wearing the expression he usually adopted when he was talking to his younger cancer patients. "For the purposes of this conversation, I would say, yes, we are."

Backing down onto her desk again, Cuddy planted her palms on either side of her, looking utterly bewildered. Her tears had been short-lived. Cuddy always had been a very strong, very together woman, and House admired that quality in her; he hardly cried himself. But this had to be a shock. The only way he could think to connect himself with a portion of what she must have been feeling, was to remember his own bewilderment when he had discovered Wilson's ex-wife in their kitchen some months ago. He recalled being irrationally hurt by it. Before he had a chance to put any more thought to the matter however, Cuddy spoke again, her voice steady.

"Well, I can't _honestly_ say that this is an unbelievable thing." She sighed. "You two are closer than - thunder and lightening for goodness sake."

"Which is why - "

But she held up a hand. "I...don't think I want any further explanation."

"Lisa - " Wilson stepped forward, his eyes remaining soft and anxious. "I know this might be an unreasonable request - I don't want all this to tear the three of us apart. I mean, I understand that we're not family, we're not obligated - but none of this is happening out of spite or bitterness. I...want us to be friends."

House was silent, listening. Understanding. This was Wilson; he _had_ to remain on good terms with exes, apparently, no matter whose they were. It didn't bother him. He would like it very much if the three of them could remain fairly good friends...maybe one day things would return to some state of normalcy between them.

Cuddy did not seem to find this an unreasonable request exactly, but a difficult one. She was silent, as House was, for a while before she felt comfortable enough to respond; when she did, she surprised House somewhat by standing and reaching up to touch Wilson's cheek, grimacing lightly. "You are very sweet, Doctor Wilson. But..." she trailed off, glancing at House.

Narrowing his eyes, he came to the realization that Cuddy was still in love with him. And while he realized this, he also realized that there was no way they could ever be together and make the relationship work. They were finished trying. But did he still love Cuddy? Was he still in love with her? Perhaps he had been for a while...perhaps he wasn't anymore. Either way, he no longer wanted to figure out what they were to each other, and he knew that Cuddy shared the same feeling. She might still be in love with him...she couldn't help that. She would overcome that pesky obstacle with time - and maybe then they could reconcile. She just wasn't worth sacrificing what he had miraculously managed to cow rope Wilson into - he wouldn't risk it for twenty dying patients.

Wilson appeared to gather all the information he needed from that one glance Cuddy shot his way. He nodded without waiting for her to complete her sentence and gently squeezed her arm. "I'm sorry." His voice was filled with true sincerety. "I'm sorry this was ever brought to your attention."

She shook her head, not really looking at either of them. "You guys go. Go home. I'm sorry I yelled at you both today - "

"Oh no," House muttered. Wilson looked at him. "She's gonna blow - "

"No, no," Cuddy cut him off. "If you really do care about each other - and I _know_ that you do, I'm just - I'm sure you're mortified at my finding out about this so soon. I'm sure you'd have liked to have waited - especially _you_ - " she said to House. "I realize you would have told me eventually. I'm - I'm happy for you. Really. This is huge."

House caught Wilson's eye briefly, his mouth thinning into a slight, humorless smile. He jerked his head toward the door. "Well, thanks. I guess we'll leave now..."

"House," Cuddy said somberly. "Thank you for being honest with me. I appreciate the lack of sarcasm. This must be important to you."

"It is," House responded gruffly, catching Wilson's eye again. "See you tomorrow."

And they left Cuddy's office, afraid of backward glances, amazed that they had come out unscathed, and relieved to be free from the tension the conversation had inevitably created.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: I **_**profusely**_** thank every last person who has reviewed my story so far. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! They've all been so wonderful and full of praise, which makes me happy. Seriously, if I didn't get reviews, there would be no story.**

His head spun and his heart beat irregularly in his chest, though it clearly desired to be somewhere else. He could not believe what they had just done, what had just happened. Their relationship with Cuddy was most likely ruined, if not forever, then for an extremely long period of time during which the world might come to an end or pigs would learn to fly. Wilson didn't care that that term was cliché; it wasn't as if his brain particularly cared about coming up with creative phrases when it was too preoccupied with the fact that they'd probably just screwed up half their lives. No way Cuddy was just going to let this whole thing blow over and give them her full support. They were all going to become distant and it was going to become very awkward for them to work together...House and he might be forced to find new jobs. He hoped immensely that it wouldn't come to that. He hoped that they all had the good sense and maturity to behave like adults.

As he zipped through the lobby to reach the front doors, a shoulder rammed into him, alerting him to the fact that House was trying to keep up with his fast pace. At once, he slowed down, reaching the doors and holding one open. House shot him an odd look as he passed.

They were both rather quiet in the car, both ruminating over their own individual worries about the situation, and hardly spoke up when they arrived at the loft, went inside, and simultaneously collapsed on the couch. Evidently bored with the quiet after a while, House powered up the flatscreen and began channel surfing, but Wilson knew he was still thinking. House liked to have background noise or something to focus a little of his attention on when he was thinking about something serious. He, himself, found the familar drone of House's favorite television shows oddly comforting. It felt normal. And things were certainly not normal.

When House got bored with the TV, he began to try and get Wilson's attention, which had wandered over to a blank space by the window in the direction of the kitchen. He was wondering about love now. Cuddy still loved House, but was House in love with Cuddy? Somehow, he didn't really think so. They had something, sure, but...he let that thought trail off in a mindless circle until it came back around, transformed. He wondered if House was already falling in love with him, like he had predicted. Like Cuddy had suggested. Between the two of them - was it possible to be wrong?

"_Hum_."

"Hm?" he answered vaguely.

"Wilson."

"What?" His eyes were unfocused, still deep in thought. House flicked his ear; he jerked his head as if trying to rid himself of a pesky mosquito.

"Let's have sex."

This time, he jerked his head around, nearly snapping his neck, to stare at House, sitting beside him with a perfectly blank expression. He scoffed, his stomach back in his throat for the hundredth time that day. "Screw you."

House chuckled. "You should thank me instead. I yanked you out of fantasy-land or maybe _House_-land if you prefer."

Wilson rolled his eyes, unable to deny that it was safer to stay in reality than take a trip to House-land.

"I need you to entertain me."

"Go play your organ," he suggested, slightly irritable for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

"Oh," House groaned and pouted at him, batting his eyelashes. "Is someone about to act like a Mister Grumpy-Pants?"

Wilson said nothing.

"Did you _want_ to have sex?"

"God, House, yes."

House hummed and looked toward the ceiling, seemingly in contemplation. "Well," he then said as if having made a difficult decision. "It might take a minute, but...I'm pretty sure I could get you to the point where you would say that again. Of course, it would be at a much higher pitch - "

Wilson swallowed, returning his gaze to the space by the window. Damn him for saying something like...he hadn't been with anyone in nearly two months. The slightest suggestive comment from anyone was bound to set him off. That, combined with the tension they both felt because of Cuddy, and their own tension between them...Wilson became very aware of the heat coming from House, not sitting quite close enough for their thighs to touch. The idea of being...intimate with his best friend didn't exactly drive him wild with passion but he couldn't deny that he wanted contact. And it helped that he was aware of House's feelings. They were the fuel to the fire of his own - the somewhat weaker ones he possessed long before he understood what House wanted from him.

It was a minute before he noticed that House was piercing the side of his head with his eyes. He turned to him again, raising his eyebrows, a little afraid. "Oh, were you waiting for a response to that? Uh...hm, let's see...my voice doesn't get high-pitched during sex. Is that sufficient?"

They stared at each other, the TV going about its business in the background. Wilson sort of hoped that House would make a move, while at the same time, he didn't. He truly wasn't ready for it. House tilted his head curiously. Wilson really didn't want - but maybe he did. His throat closed up involuntarily. He kept his face as neutral as possible. No, he was pretty sure he didn't -

"Relax," House said to him. "I'm not about to jump you."

Wilson blinked and let out a sigh of relief. Disappointment. A mixture of the two? Even so, he suddenly felt very light. Almost giddy. Grinning, he leaned over and caught House firmly by the lips. There was a pause, and then House lifted his hand from his likely aching right thigh to place it on the side of Wilson's head. Wilson scooted closer, stubble irritating his skin. Instead of pulling back, he laughed softly into House's mouth - for that, and for believing that they were about to have sex on top of this nerve-wracking day. He felt his friend's smile in return.

"It's for the best," he murmured, breaking them apart momentarily.

"As long as it's not because I'm ugly," House responded, nudging his lips again.

"You're very handsome," Wilson said nonchalantly, nudging back. "In a way that kind of sneaks up on you after a while..."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments."

Wilson reached up and gently traced House's cheekbone with his thumb, almost like he was checking it for bruises. "Doesn't mean I can't give you one."

"You really - I'm not in this for compliments."

"House," he said, meeting the older man's gaze. Silently, he told him that if he was going to be in a relationship with _him_, he might as well get used to it. House wasn't a confident person in this field, and Wilson was going to do what he could to remedy that. Slowly, House's small frown lessened until Wilson was quite sure he was actually giving him a look of appreciation. Wilson pressed their lips together again, his palm resting against his cheek. Cautiously, he allowed the tip of his tongue to slip out of his mouth and brush House's bottom lip. Moving his hand to the back of Wilson's neck, House opened his mouth, his own tongue darting out, tasting him. Wilson ignored the tiny jolt of shock this caused, and did the same for himself.

It felt incredible to be kissing someone like this. It felt downright amazing to be kissing someone he truly cared about. Someone who truly cared about him. His giddiness from moments ago increased, making him light-headed - deliriously cheerful. Who cared if being around Cuddy was going to be odd from now on? He was kissing House and the universe wasn't exploding!

In his excitement, he thrust his tongue into House's unsuspecting mouth, bringing up his other hand to grip his face properly. House eagerly reciprocated, and Wilson felt a hand ghost the front of his shirt, as if it longed to pull him closer.

Once again, he noticed the heat that House gave off. It was so familiar...suffocatingly familiar...their closeness...it still felt forbidden. All of this contributed to what he did next; he slid one hand from House's cheek, ran it down the length of his torso, and slipped it up underneath his T-shirt, feeling the warmth full-blast. House breathed out hard through his nose. He seemed to be trying to memorize the texture and formation of Wilson's face and hair with his fingertips. When Wilson, fueled by reckless daring, drew circles around his nipple, he gave a tiny grunt into his mouth, hands tightening wherever they happened to be, which turned out to be the back of his head.

Suddenly, Wilson pulled back, his head spinning. He stared intently at House, who still had his eyes closed, but soon opened them dazedly.

"What? I got your tongue?" he murmured.

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, but chuckled. "Obviously. I think it's time for bed."

House looked at him suspiciously, his lips slightly swollen and moist.

"No, I mean literally. Bed. As in, it's time for sleep."

"Oh."

Wilson stood and stretched, trying to ignore the way every last one of his muscles seemed to quiver with the aftershock of spending time with his best friend in this new and, yes, rather enticing way. It would take some getting used to. But it could be done. Oh boy, could it be done. Shooting House a small smile in goodnight, he started for the hallway. About halfway to his bedroom, he heard uneven footsteps and felt fingers wrap around his wrist. He turned, surprised, to see blue eyes drilled into him silently, pleading. For what, he wasn't sure, but whatever it was, he wanted to give in. He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on House's lips, thinking that maybe he wanted a proper goodnight send-off. House kissed back and tugged at his wrist.

"Would you like me to sleep in your room tonight?" he asked softly.

House narrowed his eyes and tugged more insistantly. As they made for the first bedroom, he hissed, "No funny business."

Once there, Wilson stripped to his undershirt and boxers while House took a trip to the bathroom. Yawning, he climbed under the covers, hoping to have them good and warm when House was finished. His stomach grumbled as the sound of running water echoed throughout the room and he realized that they hadn't eaten. He mentioned this when House was lying comfortably beside him.

"Wanna order out?" the older man asked. "It's not late."

"No, I'll just get up early and make a very large breakfast."

"Will there be pancakes?" House asked hopefully.

Wilson, at the moment, could not resist the charm that House hardly knew he possessed. Sometimes he acknowledged it, when it was needed, usually used to trick and blackmail and who knew what else, but there were times when he just didn't realize how appealing he could be.

"Anything your heart desires will be on the table," he told him, still just as giddy as ever.

"That could lead a man to think unwholesome thoughts, you know."

"Well, control that man."

House buried his face into his pillow, his hand managing to locate Wilson's underneath the sheets.

"What's with that anyway?" he asked, staring at the dark ceiling.

House resurfaced and Wilson sensed his confusion. "With what?"

"Just the other day you snarled at me like a Kimono dragon for _daring_ to make harmless jokes about this. It's so unfair." House squeezed his hand very painfully and he added, "Ow!" to that last statement.

"I'm...distracting myself."

That made sense. So much was happening...it was difficult for them both to take it all in without some means of an outlet. He crushed House's hand right back in understanding. "I guess that's alright, then. Do we need to...talk about anything?"

In answer, House brought their hands out of the warmth and onto a bit of cool mattress space in front of his face, then tucked them both under his chin like a child would a beloved blanket or special toy. Wilson was dying to tease him for that, but the gesture was so rare, so...sweet...that he forced himself to resist, and scooted a little closer so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. If House wanted to talk later, that was okay. In the end, he really just couldn't resist.

"My thumb's free, if you wanna suck it," he offered innocently.

"Piss off," House muttered, sharp air stabbing the tip of his nose, sounding nevertheless grateful.


End file.
